“Do the last two minutes matter?” you ask, turn off the game. We all wrestle you for the remote. Later, in your rusted Bug, with red and yellow gumballs spilled and rolling around the floorboards, I stick my hand out the window into the rain to push your broken wipers

…I pass DO NOT ENTER in flashing neon, in red letters on white-painted metal too, and as “Mrs. Robinson” fades, I buckle my seatbelt and stomp on the gas because there are people on this overcast Sunday freeway who must be shown how to live… <<read more>>